


Objectified

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2018 SPNKinkBingo [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Demon!Dean, Dom/sub, F/M, Objectification, Shameless Smut, Soulless!Sam, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You haven’t seen the Winchesters since before the apocalypse. When you run into them years later, you find the hunters have…changed.





	Objectified

Two dead. Two lives lost and it’s on _you_. If you’d just been quicker…

You throw your head back, hair cascading down your back as you down the shot, the woody burn of whiskey a minor comfort against your raging inner turmoil. Goddamn werewolves. The clatter of empty glass against polished wood is barely audible over the bar chatter. You rake your still-shaking fingers through your hunt-mussed locks—

“Holy shit.” 

You’d recognize that deep baritone anywhere. Dean. _Dean Winchester._

There’s a low utterance of your name that makes you finally twist in your barstool. Everything inside jellies a little at the sight of him; towering bulk that’s all broad shoulders and thick muscle. Jesus. It’s been what—four, five years since you’ve seen him? Just before the apocalypse…

Shit. Has it been that long? 

He’s carrying his age well, the lines around his eyes and mouth a little deeper. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, dark scruff peppering his cheeks and jaw. And his hair is longer than you remember, just long enough to _really_ run your fingers through; maybe even tug—

His full lips spread in a wide grin; bright, gleaming teeth a stark contrast to his shadowed cheeks. 

“Dean!” you blurt, a little breathy. “Hi–hey…” you _so_ eloquently greet him. 

“Damn,” he breathes. “What are the fuckin’ odds?” You smile dumbly.

“Sammy!” the hunter barks, twisting until you can see the long bulge of neck tendon. 

There’s a glimpse of long, brown hair behind Dean’s shoulder and then Sam’s gliding up next to him–Shit, you’ve forgotten just how _tall_ the man is, and you have to crane your neck almost to the point of pain just to meet his autumn gaze. He’s grown his hair out a bit as well, the bottom length of it curling just so at the base of his thick neck. Contrary to his brother, Sam is freshly shaven, and your fingertips _itch_ to glide up and over the softness-

“Look who I found,” Dean rumbles, raising his voice over the bar noise. 

“Holy shit…” Sam grins. Brothers.

“What’re you doing here?” the younger Winchester asks, sliding into the empty stool to your left as Dean plops down to your right.

“I uh…” You swerve back around to face the glossy counter, tilting your face toward the hunter. “I just finished a case,” you say, face drawing in a grimace at the grave memory.

“Bad one, huh?” he asks, eyes knowing. 

“Yeah,” you say, clipped. You clear your throat. “What about you guys?” you ask, quick to change the subject. “What brings you to Tucson?” 

“Driving through,” Sam answers. “Got wind of a case out in California.” 

“Oh…you want some help?” 

“Nah, we’re good, sweetheart.” Dean says, prompting you to swivel your head to the right. 

“Cool,” you nod, folding your arms over the dark wood of the bar counter. 

Why do you feel so bummed?

Dean lifts two fingers, signaling the bartender. “What are you havin’, sugar?” Dean asks as the server approaches.

“Um, just whiskey,” you say, gesturing toward your empty shot glass. “Neat.” 

“Atta girl,” the hunter approves. “Next round’s on me.” 

*****

You spend the next hour catching up, exchanging hunting stories as the liquor effectively does its job of loosening you up. Your face is flushed; either from the alcohol or from being sandwiched between two _gorgeous_ men, you’re not sure.

“So…” Sam drawls, swirling the bottom of his glass against the counter in tiny circles. His gaze briefly stretches across you to meet his brother’s before sliding back to you. “You with anybody?”

You gape up at him for a long second, then drunkenly snort. “What - you mean like a boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” Sam chuckles with a nod. His eyes look almost golden underneath the amber lights.

“Dude. Of course not. I’m a hunter.”

“Fair enough,” he grins with a half-shrug. His eyes sweep past you for just a blip before meeting yours again. “So then…would you have any objections to gettin’ outta here?”

Your eyes go comically wide, and you nearly give yourself whiplash as you snap your head towards Dean, then back to Sam.

“Um…you mean…” you tilt your head farther toward him. “You mean all _three_ of us?” you hiss.

The hunter sniggers. “Yeah. I mean all of us.” 

“Oh. _Okay_.” You dramatically roll your eyes. “Very funny, Sam.”

“Oh Sam doesn’t joke, honey.” Dean pipes in. “He never has had much of a sense of humor. ’Specially now…”

“Now?”

Sam clears his throat rather pointedly, throwing a steely glare at his brother. “Conversation for another time…but um, no. I’m not joking.” 

“Wow,” you laugh. “I um…” You straighten, lips forming a fleshy circle as you blow out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I’ve had _quite_ enough whiskey-”

“Oh, you’ve had plenty, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles. “You ain’t no good to us if you’re unconscious.” 

What. Is. Happening?

“Hey…” Sam leans in, fingers burning against your cheekbone as they smooth your hair behind your ear. “No pressure, ‘kay?” 

Your gaze dances between his soft eyes and mouth as you actually _consider_ this.

“I just…I mean—you seriously _want_ to?” you ask, your voice a near-squeak. Sam nods, impossibly close to your face when warm lips brush against the shell of your ear—

“I’m hard just thinkin’ about it,” Dean whispers, making everything inside you tense and _clench._

That’s all it takes, your head bobbing frantically as you eagerly accept Sam’s invitation.

Dean squeezes your shoulder. “You guys go on, I gotta close out the tab.” 

Your heart is already fluttering as you slide off the stool to stand on shaky legs.

“You got a car?” Sam asks as he leads you out of the bar.

“Yeah, it’s the old corvette over there,” you say, pointing at the old, white, dirt-dusted classic you’d inherited some years ago that you’ve crookedly parked at the corner.

“Right, so…you probably shouldn’t be driving,” Sam acknowledges, hazel eyes drinking in your flushed cheeks and slight sway to your stance. He holds out a hand, palm-up. “How ‘bout I drive your car back and you shotgun with Dean?” 

You take a breath, acutely aware of the whiskey thrumming warm through your veins. “Yeah,” you agree. “Good idea, Sam,” you laugh as you delve your hand into your jacket pocket. 

“Ah!” you chirp, booze-giddy, as you pull the clinking metal free. Sam shakes his head, one corner of his mouth pulled up tight in a smirk as he swipes the keys from you. You watch him walk away; neon bar lights bathing his lean figure in rich reds and oranges. His gait’s a little stiffer, shoulders a little more squared than you remember. Something settles in your gut.

Something’s wrong.

“You ready?” You whirl around, nearly losing your footing at the sound of a low voice rumbling from behind you. Dean’s eyes are glued to yours, lips quirked in an almost-smile as he folds up his leather wallet before stuffing it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Um, yeah-”

“Where’d Sam go?”

The familiar roar of your car’s engine beats you to your answer. You jerk your head toward the sound. “He’s taking my car…I’m a little-”

“Sloshed?” Dean finishes with a dim chuckle. You give a tight-lipped smile as you bashfully nod your agreement.

“Alright, c’mon,” the hunter smiles, hooking a steadying arm around your waist as he guides you toward the Impala. The Arizona night breeze is cool and dry against your heated cheeks, and you can feel yourself sobering as you approach the gleaming length of Dean’s most prized possession. He tucks you into his side as he heaves the passenger door open, the old metal squealing its protest. 

A wide-fingered palm cups the back of your head as Dean eases you into the the seat.

“Dude!” you giggle, “I’m fine…buzzed at the most,” you assure him. You reach around your head to peel his fingers from your skull. “I promise I can get into a car without hurting myself,” you grin with an overdramatic roll of your eyes, choosing to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your belly at Dean’s chivalrous display.

The hunter simply shrugs, backs away with a ‘whatever you say, sweetheart,’ as he shoves the door closed.

You watch him as he clears the grill of the car; he’s just so… _big_. Has he always been that big? There’s something different about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Sam too. 

Shit. What are you _doing?_

Another groan of metal snaps you from your thoughts as Dean opens his door to plop himself into the leather seat. The interior of the car is dark–only the pastel glow from the neon lights filtering in through the windows, painting the hunter’s face in a blend of orange and pink. He pulls the keys from his jacket, hand pausing midway to the ignition. 

“Something wrong?” you ask, a slight waver to your voice.

Dean sighs, cheek bulging as he runs his tongue along the inside of it. “Look,” he starts, eyes anchored on the steering wheel. “I dunno if you’re sober enough for this conversation, but you need to hear this before we get back to the room.” 

The statement alone has your head _instantly_ clearing.

“Hear? Hear what?” 

Dean shifts, twisting at the hips to face you, leather groaning under his weight as he throws an arm over the seatback. “Sam and I,” he says slow, “we’re uh…we’re different now.” 

There’s a breath of silence, and then sirens are blaring in your brain.

“Different…how?” you ask after a beat, your fingers absently feeling for the door handle.

Dean doesn’t miss your panic, sharp eyes dropping to your hand. “Relax, kid,” he rumbles. “We’re not forcin’ ya here.” He tucks his chin towards his chest, steeling his gaze on you. “Door’s unlocked,” he says. “You can leave if you want.” 

You swallow, fingers pulsing against the cool handle. There’s definitely dread swimming around in your gut, but curiosity is getting the better of you. 

“How are you different?” 

Dean takes a breath, then blinks, oily black flooding out the green. 

“Shit,” you breathe, fingers wrenching at the door handle-

“Wait!” 

You let out a clipped scream as strong fingers easily encircle your upper arm, holding tight-

“Fuck, kid–just calm down, okay?” He gets a hold of your other arm, straightening you towards him. “Look–it’s me, I promise.” He sighs, releasing an arm to hook four fingers into the layered collars of two shirts and a leather jacket, tugging the fabric down to expose his still-intact anti-possession tattoo.

“H-how?” you stammer, eyes anxiously darting back and forth between inky eyes and tattoo.

“S’long story,” Dean admits, blinking out the black. “I um, I got this mark on my arm…it’s a curse, really…” He clears his throat, licks at his lips. “Anyway, I uh, I technically died…but this mark–it brought me back.” He flicks a finger at his black-again eyes. “Like this.” 

This is too much. You need to leave…

Why aren’t you leaving?

“I may be a monster,” Dean says low, “but I’m not gonna hurt you.” His lips quickly pull into a playful grin. “I mean, unless you’re into that kinda thing.” 

Your belly lurches as that, fresh heat zipping straight to your cunt. 

What the hell is _wrong_ with you?

Dean releases your arm then, settles his back against the door. “Still unlocked…” he reminds you. 

You open your mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again–your tongue and brain struggling to come to an agreement.

“Sam,” you murmur, eyes glued to an orange flare glinting off his jacket zipper. “How’s Sam different?” 

Dean wets his lips again–has that always been a tic of his, or is this new too?

“So, you remember the apocalypse…right?”

How could you forget?

“Of course,” you nod. “You guys saved all of our asses.”

“Well, uh…Sam didn’t quite make it.” 

“He…what?”

“Shit,” Dean breathes, thunking the back of his head against the window. “Another long story, but to sum it up…Sam lost his soul.” 

“He…he what now?” 

“His soul’s still in Hell. Locked in the cage with Michael and Lucifer.” 

“Can’t you get it back?!” you gasp, dumbfounded.  

“Tried,” Dean grunts with a faint nod. 

“So…you just gave up then,” you say, voice dripping with venom. 

“We ran out of options,” Dean bites back, voice deepening.

He huffs out a somber laugh, “I remember…I was…I was kinda scared of him at first,” the hunter recalls, gaze flickering into some secret, distant memory. He smiles then, lips stretching slow. “But now…I kinda like the new Sam. He’s fun. Less dorky.” 

“He’s dangerous,” you snap. “No soul means no _conscience…_ he’s a goddamn ticking time bomb!”

Dean releases a controlled sigh, heavy hand thumping against the steering wheel.

“Sam’s been this way for years,” he says. “He’s a killer, but only when he needs to be.” 

You shake your head incredulously, huff out a parody of a chuckle. “When he needs to be,” you parrot. “That’s comforting.” 

You both fall silent then; no sound except for the muffled voices of drunks and hook-ups ambling their way out of the bar.

“You’re still here,” Dean rumbles finally.

“Yeah,” you whisper, gaze downcast as you pick at your fingers.

Jesus, everything in you is screaming to get the hell out of there, but you just can’t bring yourself to open the door.

The sound of creaking leathers pops your head up. Dean slides across the worn bench seat, gets just close enough to rake long fingers through your hair.

“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” he murmurs, shining eyes searching yours. “I promise.”

You swallow. “Banking on a demon’s word,” you laugh. “I’ve really hit bottom, huh?”

“Demon’s word’s better than a liar’s. And I ain’t a liar,” Dean says low, green eyes dark and locked onto you.

“We just wanna have a little fun…just wanna feel good. Don’tcha want us to make you feel good?” the Winchester prods, dipping his head until he’s looking at you from underneath arched eyebrows.

And shit, he’s not even touching you in any erogenous zones, but _dammit,_ his words, his eyes, his fingers cupped at the back of your head…all of it has you flooding hot.

Yeah. You’re done for.

*****

Your corvette sits level between two faded white parking lines, even the tires are straight. Dean pulls the Impala into the space next to it, shaking his head as he shoves the car into park. 

“Jesus,” he groans. “You ever gonna wash her?” 

“Hush,” you throw back as you wrench your door open.

“We’re the last door to the right,” Dean says over the double slam of closing car doors, index finger extended toward the end of the building, just next to the stairs. You wordlessly make your way to the door, slightly startled when a burly arm snakes around your waist. His hand is buried in his pocket, rooting for the key when the door suddenly _swings_ open.

Sam’s scowling as he leans against the door, corded forearm holding his weight.

“Jesus. Didn’t think you guys were ever gonna show up,” he says dryly. Dean gives him a faint smirk before shouldering past his brother, pulling you along with him.

“Had to give her the disclaimer,” Dean says, slipping his arm from you to shrug off his jacket.

“She’s still here I see,” Sam observes, voice a little lighter, as he shuts the door.

“She is,” Dean says, stepping up behind you to run huge palms up and down your jacket-covered arms, and you can feel the heat of him bleeding through the leather. “She was a little freaked at first,” he admits, “but you know how I fuckin’ smooth I am.” You can hear the smug in his voice. “Reeled her right in.” 

“Dude!” Sam says, just as new panic starts to wind its way down your spine. “You’re gonna freak her out all over again.” 

“Hey,” the younger Winchester murmurs as he marches over to you, sandwiching you once again between the two towering brothers. “You good?” he asks, dragging warm knuckles from your cheekbone to your jaw. You nod through a hard swallow. 

Sam smiles then, just a soft quirk of pink lips. “You sure? You don’t have to do this, you know.” There’s a different twinkle to Sam’s eyes now, but you recognize the familiar glint of kindness, the warm honey of his voice, and suddenly all the tension is melting away.

You smile back, nodding your consent, and then hazel eyes are flicking up over your head to Dean. He makes a face, a kind of satisfied smirk, and then his gaze is back on you.

“So uh, before we get started…you ever had a threesome before?” 

“N-no,” you manage, your heart wildly pounding in your chest.

“Okay,” Sam smiles, sweeping a curtain of hair from your eyes. “What um, what are you into?” 

You pause, unsure of how to answer, unsure of what exactly he’s asking.

“I don’t…I mean…” 

“You like it rough, baby?” Dean rumbles from behind you, and oh _shit_ \- your stomach tightens, cunt fucking twitches at his words.

“Yeah,” you whisper, teeth lustfully sinking into your lower lip.

“You ever been dominated?” Sam asks then, eyes narrowing.

Oh. Shit.

You let your lip pop back into place before you manage a choked “Uh-uh.” 

“You wanna be?” Dean’s gravel-heavy voice rolls into your ear, heavy hands smoothing up over the curve of your shoulders.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Yes,” you breathe. “ _God_ , yes _.”_

Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s again, lips twisted in another smirk. A smirk that you just _know_ matches his brother’s.

The younger hunter leaves you then and you tremble with a shiver that has absolutely nothing to do with the chill of the room as Dean peels your jacket off your shoulders and down your arms.

A rustling sound alerts you to Sam’s return and you turn your head just in time to see him plop a large, black duffle on the bed beside you. A heavy _ziiip_ cuts through the air–

“Whoa-whoa-whoa!” Dean blurts, waving a hand at his brother. “Don’t just fuckin’ spring that on her!”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “But she said–”

“Dude,” Dean sighs, exasperated. “Just let me take it from here.” 

What have you gotten yourself into?

Dean turns you in his arms until you’re facing him, fingers playing with your hair. “You ever been tied up before?” 

Hooo boy.

“Yeah…just handcuffs though,” you admit.

Dean’s eyes briefly slip back to his brother’s before settling back to yours. “We can start with that,” he says with a nod. “But uh, you good with a little more n’ just cuffs?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes dancing between the hunters.

“You trust us?” Sam asks from the other side of the bed. 

“I do,” you say, almost questioningly. You trust them, wholeheartedly–you just have no idea _why_.

“Awesome,” Dean whispers, revealing perfect, pearly teeth as his full lips curl in a satisfied smile. “So,” he rasps, combing thick fingers through your hair. “How ‘bout some rules?”

Your belly tightens, color flushing up under your cheeks. “Rules are fun…” you reply, rather dumbly. The brothers exchange an amused glance.

“Rule number one,” Dean says, hardening eyes leveling with yours. “Your _ours_ tonight. You have no purpose other than pleasuring _us_.” The hunter must sense your hesitation, because then he’s running a soothing hand up and down your arm. “We give as good as we get, sweetheart,” he whispers. You nod.

“Rule number two - you don’t have a name. Other than whatever _we_ choose to call you. Understand, slut?” 

Oh, _Jesus_.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out in a shaky whisper. He makes a face, something between surprised and approving.

“Rule number three - _We,”_ Dean dips his chin, wags a finger between Sam and himself, “are in charge here. We give out the orders. Not you.” His eyes soften a little. “You okay with that?” 

And damn, if every nerve ending isn’t positively _humming_ with lust…

“Ye-yeah,” you manage. “But what…what if–”

“You got a safeword?” Sam asks, tuning in to your hesitation.

“Um…”

“Color system,” Dean blurts. “We’ll use the color system. Don’t be afraid to use it, babe. We won’t get mad. ‘Kay?” 

“Perfect,” you grin, your lower lip finding its way back between your teeth.

*****

Ten minutes later, you’re naked; sprawled out on the bed, wrists gathered against the smooth skin of your stomach, bound in simple, yet expertly knotted, rope. Your head hangs limp over the edge of the mattress. Dean’s stretched long to your left, head propped in a palm; he’s down to a single layer, black t-shirt hugging deliciously broad shoulders.

A wide-fingered hand lazily runs up the length of your torso, leaving a tingling-hot trail in its wake. You watch as an upside-down Sam comes into view, also stripped down to one layer; a white v-neck that accentuates his sun-golden skin. A groan bubbles from deep in your chest when Dean’s hand closes around your right breast, just as Sam crouches down to your level.

“Color?” 

“Green,” you whisper. He grins, ruddy lips stretching back to reveal shining teeth. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, rising back to his full, towering height. “You hungry?” he asks with a lilt to his voice. “You look like you might be hungry.” He grins as long fingers work to unfasten his belt. 

The blood is starting to uncomfortably pound in your head with the way your head is draped over the bed, but when the hunter pulls his thickening length free, the discomfort is quickly eclipsed by your racing heart and the rhythmic pulsing between your legs.

Sam quickly rids himself of worn jeans and boxers, has to shift his feet wide to level his dick with your mouth. He leans forward, braces a hand against the mattress.

“Open up for him, slut,” Dean orders beside you, walking two fingers up to your slightly-parted lips. You drop your jaw as Sam knocks your mouth open with the velvety head of his cock, strong fingers tightly clamped around his wide base. You work your lips wide, remembering to keep your jaw lax as Sam inches more of himself into the wet heat of your mouth. Your tongue flattens against the embossed vein underneath as he slides deeper, the muscles in your throat protesting as the broad tip nudges past. He’s buried as deep as possible, massive hand fisting the few inches that don’t fit inside.

You jolt, teeth nearly scraping Sam, at the sudden sensation of Dean’s mouth replacing the hand on your breast, plump lips sealing hard around the sensitive bud while a heavy hand skims over your belly to gently cup you between your legs, the thick skin of his palm hot and rough against the softness there. You whimper around Sam’s length as he slowly slides out, while Dean strokes a finger through your drenched folds, the undercurve of it just a kiss against your pulsing clit.

Plush lips leave your breast to brush at your ear, “Don’tcha dare come. Not until you have permission,” Dean whispers thickly, just as he sinks that long finger into your heat. 

Fuck. He isn’t going to make this easy for you.

Sam groans, soft and deep, as he languidly rocks into your mouth, one hand still closed around the base of his shaft while the other strokes over the bulge of your throat.

Oh god. Dean’s adding another finger now, nudging up against the first and slicking in. His lips find your breast again, hot tongue laving over your nipple. Sweat gathers along your hairline and your fingernails carve crescent moons into your palms as both men pump into you.

Your lips are stretched almost impossibly wide around Sam’s full hardness as he plunges deep into your throat, moisture collecting at the brim of your eyes as you fight against your gag reflex. Sam groans again, pants heavily as he fucks into your mouth, his free hand leaving your stretched neck to palm at your right breast.

“Fuck,” Sam breathes, fingers squeezing at the soft mound of flesh. “You can take a cock deep can’t ya? M’gonna be down in your chest before ya know it.”

You clench hard around Dean’s thrusting fingers at Sam’s lascivious words.

If it wasn’t for the pain your fingernails are bringing as they dig into your flesh, you’d think you were dreaming. This is all just so surreal. Sure, you’d fantasized about a threesome with the brothers on dark, lonely nights–but this? This is actually fucking happening.

Dean’s speeding up his fingers now, crooking them just _right_ , and Jesus, you can fucking _hear_ him plunging into your weeping cunt–even over the wet suck of your lips around Sam’s dick.

He releases you with a pop, “You’re squeezing my fingers, slut. You gonna come?” 

You answer him with a tight shake of your head. It’s really hard to move with Sam Winchester’s monster of a cock jammed down your throat.

“Better not,” Dean chuckles deep. 

Even though you’re the one with your mouth full, Sam makes a choked noise just before slipping his length from you. 

“Shit,” he pants, “I’s about to come…You’re up, man.” 

You feel achingly bereft as Dean pulls his fingers from you, the mattress shifting under his mass as he climbs off the bed. His jeans are already gaping open in a wide V as he enters your field of vision.

Down south, Sam is nudging your legs open as he knees his way up in between your thighs. You close your eyes as he runs a rough thumb back and forth through your wetness.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “This from sucking my cock, or from my brother’s fingers?” 

“Both,” you rasp, maybe a little too quickly.

When you peel your eyes open again, Dean’s naked from the waist down. Your mouth waters as the sight of his rigid, velvety thickness. What Dean lacks in Sam’s length, he makes up for in girth. Shit, he’s wide. And he’s fully hard, the blunt tip an angry red and leaking at the slit. It almost looks threatening, the way it’s looming over you–and fuck, even the vein underneath is intimidatingly thick. He takes the root of his shaft in his big hand, nudges the glancing head against your lips, coaxing them open. 

You obediently drop your jaw as you wait for Dean to situate himself, assuming the same position Sam had taken only moments ago. You moan at the hefty weight of him against your tongue as he slips inside. He slowly works himself in until his balls rest against your nose, and there’s a brief second of panic at the loss of oxygen before he’s backing away, slicking out to the tip before sinking in again.

“You ready for me, slut?” Sam asks suddenly, lining up. He knows you can’t answer. And you know he knows. So you simply moan around Dean’s shaft as you register the first hot press of Sam’s cock. 

One sharp inhale and the younger Winchester is pushing in, splitting you wide. Big hands grab at your waist, jerking you slightly forward until your hips are slanted up, thighs draped over his. Dean follows as you move, leaning forward with his fists deep in the covers to keep himself seated in your mouth.

Heat blazes over your skin as you lie on the bed, completely _impaled_ by the Winchester brothers. The bump and drag of Sam’s cock against your walls is nothing short of exquisite, while the solid weight and salty tang of Dean in your mouth is dangerously intoxicating. 

Both men move in tandem; Sam thrusts in while Dean pulls back, then Dean rolls in while Sam slicks back. They’re almost professional, the way they fuck you. And you dimly wonder if this a normal for them now. A new hobby maybe.

Sam’s picked up the pace, fucking into you with enough force that you’re rocking between the two huge men; a steady, rhythmic, push and pull.

Now Dean’s thumbing over over the swell in your throat. You wish you could see it. The way your body distorts to accommodate him. If you could lift your head to look, you bet you could see a rolling lump in your lower belly.

Dean brings his hands to your breasts; pulling, pinching, squeezing. You show him how much you like it by hollowing your cheeks around his thrusting length. He moans, low and airy.

Sam’s grunting deep, fingers denting into the fleshy bit of your waist as he snaps into you. Fuck, it feels _so_ good to have so many hands on you. You’ve never felt so blissed out–hell, you don’t even _care_ about an orgasm right now, you just want to feel this. Forever.

Dean pulls his hands from your chest, bucks back with a desperate sound, knuckles blanched around the base of his saliva-slick length. It twitches in his grasp, deeply flushed and glistening.

Your jaw aches from holding it open for so long and you can still taste Dean, can still feel the heft of him on your tongue.

The tendons in the back of your neck scream as you lift your head, and you’ve just registered the dip-creak in the mattress as Dean plops down into it–

 When Sam suddenly falls over you, nearly knocking his forehead into yours as he drops to his strong forearms, dipping his head down to grunt and pant into your neck.

He’s stripped himself of his shirt–When did _that_ happen? And you can feel the damp smoothness of his chest rub against your curled fingers. He’s hot; literally, physically _hot_ as he grinds over you, _in_ you. 

Silky-soft strands of hair tickle at your cheek and neck as he hovers over you, blocking your view of Dean, and god, you wish you could see him. Is he stroking himself while he watches his brother fuck into you? Is that plush lower lip tucked in between those perfect teeth? Is he laying down? Propped against the headboard?

You screech, high and tinny, when a finger suddenly slicks across your clit–holy shit! You had no _idea_ you were so close–

“You wanna come, slut?” Sam rasps. You can hear the dangerous grin in the husk of his voice. 

“Ye-yes,” you gasp, “Please…” 

The hunter doesn’t answer, just swirls that finger over and over your throbbing nub as he works his hips harder and faster. Pain blooms across your pelvic bone every time he makes contact, but he’s sliding in so _deep_ , right into that pleasure-patch with every drive.

“Come for me, bitch,” Sam commands with a _frighteningly_ feral growl.

White. Everything goes staticky white when you come. There’s no sound except for the whir of pounding blood in your ears, and you’re pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing. Sam’s still fucking you, stabbing into your spasming walls as he chases his own.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you can see Dean’s blinding grin, the deep crinkles around his eyes as he takes it all in–and shit, the image alone turns your twitching aftershocks into a second climax.

Sam’s rhythm goes wonky, clipped grunts deepening and rising in volume. His chestnut hair clings to your wet cheek and neck–

A hand wedges under your back, fingers slipping through sweat as he arches you further up into him.

And then he goes silent, rigid-stiff as he mashes and jerks into you–so _deep._ You’re gasping, even though your orgasm has long passed, wheezing in giant lungfuls of air as Sam sags heavy against you. 

“Alright, alright,” Dean gripes from somewhere beside you. “My turn.” 

Sam huffs a chuckle, hot in your ear as he eases himself up to his knees. There’s just enough light in the room to see the gleaming shine of his sweat-soaked body, wet hair adhering to the long slopes of his neck. He gives you a wink, scrubbing his huge hands up his face and through his wild hair before rolling off the bed.

Fuck, you’re exhausted. The bathroom door clicks shut and then the sound of running water. You feel heavy, senses fading as sleep pulls you under.

“Hey…” A meaty palm thumps against your cheek. Your eyes crack open: Dean. 

He’s hunched over you, deliciously naked, fingers curled around a clear plastic cup. Fresh arousal zips through your when you look down: he’s got one leg up on the bed, bent at the knee, foot pushed up against his inner thigh. His iron-hard cock curves up toward his belly, ruddy and _dizzyingly_ thick.

He chuckles deep. “Up here, baby. You’ll get that in a minute.”

Oh god.

“Drink.” 

He helps you to a sitting position, tips the cup against your lips. The water’s a bit gritty, but it does the trick. You greedily gulp it down, some of it sloshing from the corners of your mouth to drip messily down your chin in your haste. You hadn’t realized just how fucking _thirsty_ you were.

“Theeere we go,” Dean drawls as the last cool drop splatters against your tongue. You turn your head, dip down to wipe your chin against your bare shoulder.

Dean smiles, wide and dark. “Color?” 

“Green.” Jesus, your voice is hoarse.

“That’s my girl,” he approves, dragging a thumb across the curve of your lower lip. He deftly loosens the rope around your wrists. You look down; red, twisty imprints encircle the flesh. They burn a little.

“Middle of the bed, on your knees,” Dean instructs with a gentle push to your back.

You twist around, falling on your hands and knees as you crawl to your destination. You drop your ass to your heels, palms resting flat against your thighs as you wait for further instruction.

The bathroom door opens then, and you can hear Sam thudding across the brown carpet. You’re suddenly aware of his mess dribbling out of you to stain the blanket underneath. The mattress groans as Dean moves across it, and then there’s a clinking sound, something metal.

Sam lowers himself to the bed, to your front. He’s still glistening, golden skin shining in the dull, yellow lights, but this time it’s from a five-minute shower. A bleached-white towel is tucked low and snug to his hips, and his hair is soaked. Drops of cooling water burgeon from the tips to flow down over his defined chest in tiny rivulets.

“Bend over,” Sam instructs, voice gruff. “All the way….and spread your knees.” 

You bring your hands to the wrinkled blankets, slowly lower yourself until your breasts and left cheek are mashed against the covers. You let your arms fall beyond your head, crooked at the elbows. Your knees make a brushing sound over the blankets as you widen them, shit - you feel so… _exposed_.

“That’s a good girl,” Sam murmurs, running blunt fingernails through your hair, sweeping it over your left shoulder. “Wanna see your face for this,” he grins.

Oh, hell.

A warm hand encircles your right ankle, and then something clases around it, tightens…leather? You shift uncomfortably when you feel the same around your left ankle, and then something slender and cool rests against the curves of your calves.

Yep, that’d be a spreader bar.

“Hands,” Dean grunts, tapping at the small of your back. You feel the twist and strain of your arms as you bring them behind you, obediently crossing them at the wrists.

Skilled hands gently work your own into the leather cuffs, tightening at the border of pain. 

“You okay?” he checks, running a calming hand up and down the length of your back.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Color?”

“Green.” 

“You’re not gonna be able to talk for a little bit,” he says with a hint of warning.

What.

 “So if you wanna stop, I need you to grunt three times in a row. Not two times, not four times… _three_. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Demonstrate for us,” Dean says, fingers playing at your hips.

Shit, this is weird.

You press your lips together and punch the sound out from deep in your chest, “ _Mmph-mmph-mmph._ ”

“Perfect,” Dean says, thumbs drawing circles into your sides.

There’s movement beyond your eyes and then Sam is turning toward you, black ball gag dangling from crooked fingers.

You swallow, fear and excitement swirling tingly-hot in your belly.

You lift your head and part your lips as Sam looms in. He nestles the orb of silicone between your teeth, pulls the straps firmly against your cheeks to secure at the base of your skull. The ball sinks further into your mouth as he tightens the gag. It feels strange and not exactly comfortable; your jaw propped open, unable to close your lips. But you suppose you really can’t complain—hell, you’ve already had two cocks down your throat tonight.

There’s something indescribably erotic about being completely restrained like this. Spread open and muzzled for someone else’s pleasure.

“Shit, Sammy…you made a damn mess,” dean observes, fingertips grazing over the curve of your ass, thumb inching dangerously close to the drying come marking your skin.

“You will too,” the younger Winchester replies. “She’s nice and slick and _tight_.” 

Dean grunts out a sound of approval, shifts, and lines himself up. Your teeth sink into your gag as the hunter pushes in, seemingly uncaring that he’s slicking through his brother’s spendings. You easily bloom open for him, but he still moves slow, allowing your walls time to stretch for him, and _god_ do they stretch. 

The bed creaks, and then Sam’s on the floor, on his knees—leaning over the mattress. He reaches a hand out to stroke a finger, feather-light, down your cheek before folding his arms at the edge of the bed. A predatory smirk is frozen on his face, hazel eyes unblinking. Your cheeks flush. Fuck, he really is gonna _watch_ you.

Dean’s moving now, building momentum with every thrust. “Fuck,” he rasps, “she _is_ fuckin’ tight—shit—” Your fists ball, face rocks into the blankets, and you can already feel the rolled up fabric imprinting into your skin. His fingers are bruisingly curled around your hips, heavy balls brushing at your clit as he grinds into you.

You’re panting heavily through your nose now; quick, shallow bursts of air. He’s so wide, in so _deep_ —it hurts a little, but the quivery pleasure easily outweighs the pain. 

“Fuck,” Sam groans. “You look so good…I should take a picture. Or a video. Would you like that, slut? Want me to film you while my brother fucks the shit outta you?”

You helplessly groan behind your gag, Sam’s words causing fresh heat to curl in your belly.

“Shit,” Dean gasps, “I think she likes that idea. She just fuckin’ clamped me.” 

Sam reaches forward, curves his fingers around the back of your neck, and swipes his thumb over the gag between your lips. “Maybe next time,” he whispers with a wink, lips stretching in a wolfish grin.

Dean leans forward then, releases your hips to brace himself on his fists, damp chest hot and slick against your back as he snaps into you with _brutal_ strength. He’s hitting so deliciously deep, mashing right into your g-spot. He grunts and pants into your sweaty neck, low and breathy. 

You’re squealing behind your gag now, eyes squeezed shut, tears of pleasure escaping under your lashes to wind down your hot cheeks.

“Gonna fill you up, slut,” Dean grits. “Better come while you have the chance.” 

You make a desperate sound, high and whiny, but Dean gets it; slips a hand under your hips to rub over your clit, strumming so _fast-_

When you come, it’s painful; back stiffening and bowing, muscles tensing in their already-awkward position, body jerking up into the crushing mass of the hunter grinding on top of you—but the pleasure is white-hot, rippling in wave after wave until your body collapses in exhausted defeat, Dean’s hand going back to the mattress as he continues to plunge into you.

“Goddamn,” Dean pants over the wet thrusting. “Gonna hafta keep you.”

You can feel the sweat trickling down over your sides and when you finally peel your eyes open, Sam’s right there; hair nearly dry at the top, hazel eyes dark and shiny. He leans in then, seals his lips over your gag in a kind of debauched, possessive  kiss. It’s short-lived with the force of Dean’s slamming hips, but burning all the same.

Dean’s not really thrusting anymore, just unrhythmically shoving and jerking up into you. He sounds like an animal when he grunts, frighteningly _not_ human, and you faintly wonder if it’s the demon in him, wonder if his eyes are black too.

He gives one last, _impossibly_ deep shove and then he’s spilling into you with a deep, gritty sound. He pants against you for several seconds before straightening and pulling out. You whimper at the warm gush of come that flows from your gaping opening as his head slips from you.

The post-orgasm fog quickly settles in, and you’re fairly sure you’ve lost consciousness at least twice while both brothers work to release you from your bindings.

You feel rather disgusting as you lie in a mess of sweat and come, but you feel good, more content than you’ve felt in months—hell, maybe even _years._

You feel the bed dip as Sam pushes into it, rising to his feet. Dean slithers up next to you, rolls you to your back so he can cup you under the jaw, tilt your face up to his—

“How ya feelin’?” He asks, voice gravelly-thick.

“So fucking good,” you whisper, weak.

“Good,” he grins, teeth bright in the dim darkness of the room. “Now let’s getcha cleaned up so you can get some sleep. You’re gonna need it.” 

“Huh?” you grunt.

“Oh, we’re not done with you, honey,” Sam pipes from the sink. His back is turned, sweatpants slung low on his hips, eyes focused on his own reflection as he wipes excess toothpaste from his mouth with the motel’s washcloth.

“But—the case…” you start.

The brothers exchange a humorous glance.

“There’s no case, gorgeous,” Dean grins, gliding his hand along the dip of your waist.

“What? What’re you…”

“Took us a while to track you down,” Sam says with a dangerous smile, plopping down at the foot of the opposite bed. 

You sit up then, knocking Dean’s hand away, mouth agape. “So why didn’t you guys just _call_ me?!” 

“Woulda,” Dean grunts, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “If we had a working cell number.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, embarrassed smile blossoming across your face. “Right.”

You draw your knees up, loop your arms around them. “But, I mean…why me?” you ask, wide eyes dancing between the hunters.  “After all this time?”

The brothers spare another glance. Sam dips his head at Dean.

“We uh…we’ve both always had a thing for ya,” The eldest Winchester admits, brushing a knuckle along the length of your arm. “We came to an agreement that you were off-limits.”

“So…what changed?” you ask with raised brows.

“ _We_ did,” Sam grins. You smile.

“So what now?” you ask, hugging your knees tighter against you.

“Now you’re gonna rest,” Dean says, smoothing away the hair that’s sticking to your sweat-tacky face. 

“Because tomorrow we’re gonna see how many times you can come.”


End file.
